


Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Sex

by oranhe



Series: The 69th Amendment [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Panic! at the Disco, Political RPF - US 21st c., Sherlock (TV), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Steven Universe (Cartoon), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Daddy Kink, Erectile Dysfunction, M/M, Micropenis, Viagra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oranhe/pseuds/oranhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Political AU where Sherlock is Bernie Sanders and John is Donald Trump. An unexpected sex scandal occurs that changes everything...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“When you can't make them see the light, make them feel the heat.” - John F. Kennedy_

“Holy smokes!” exclaimed The Doctor, staring at my micropenis. He took out a ruler and put it next to my dong. “2 centimeters… How many is it when erect?” 

I grunted and shook my head. “Umm… I have erectile dysfunction. It… It never goes over that.”

My name is John Watson-Trump and I’m running for president. I’m a proud republican and billionaire. I’ve been diagnosed with erectile dysfunction for almost all my life. If people who supported me knew about my secret, my life would be ruined. That’s why I visit a doctor every single day. Today is the day I fly over to the site of my next debate, Portland Oregon. I get into my 2,000 meters long private jet and begin to comb my penis. I grab all two centimeters with my right thumb. I moan in relief as I ejaculated 12 pints of sperm. The plane landed and I got off of it with my campaign manager, Corey, following me. I was greeted by a massive crowd of my supporters, all of them wearing my John Watson-Trump For President shirt.

“OH MY GOSH GUYS IT’S ACTUALLY HIM!!! JOHN TRUMP, CAN YOU SIGN MY TITTIES? I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!”

I laugh at my adoring fan and pull a pen out of my pocket. Not realizing that the pen was covered in my semen, I sign my name all over the person’s boobies. She retaliates in horror as she sees that my pen is covered in sticky white fluid.

“EWWW!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?” 

I panic as I realize that my pen was covered in my love juice. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. It’s just milk, I swear!”

She scowls at me and walks away.

“Whatever!” I say. “I don’t need women supporting me!” The men in the crowd cheer as she leaves and I feel good.

-

I finally arrive in the rally area before the debate. I get up onto the stage and see at least 3 people watching me. “Hello everyone. I am here to tell you guys about how I feel about things. First of all, illegal immigrants. What’s up with them?” The crowd laughs. “I mean, really? They’re stealing our jobs! Why the hell are they even here? If I were president, I’d definitely make it illegal for them to come into our country!”

An eruption of cheering rings throughout the crowd. Life’s good.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Dignity does not come from avenging insults, especially from violence that can never be justified. It comes from taking responsibility and advancing our common humanity.” - Aaron Burr_

The arena was vibrating with excitement, and I wasn’t even inside yet. I pulled up from my private Über—a non-pretentious black Honda Sedan, because I was a man of the people and the millennials—and stepped out to the grimy streets of Los Angeles. An alley cat meowed. A homeless woman tried to approach me for money. I got nervous so I turned my head towards my campaign manager, Dean Winchester-Weaver. “What are the numbers in there?” I asked.

“100,000 people RSVP’d on Facebook, Senator Sherlock Holmes-Sanders,” he said. “But my assistant Castiel says that even more turned up inside!”

“Great for publicity,” I said. I put on my shades so the paparazzi wouldn’t take any photos of me, because I do not support celebrity culture. I walk towards the venue surrounded by Sam, Dean, and Bobby, my security, protecting me. 

My name is Sherlock Holmes-Sanders and I’m running for the President of the United States. I am a man of the people. My biggest opponents are Mr. Trump and Secretary Clinton. I have had the most unique contributors of any campaign in history, because people love me. Tomorrow is the first mixed-party debate in Portland, but first, today, I must make a rally in Los Angeles.

The doors open, the cameras flash, and I walk on stage, removing my shades, putting on a huge smile, and waving towards all my supporters. There are so many people here, which makes sense because I’m a man of the people. The cheers would deafen me but I’m wearing earplugs. My security forms a circle around me as I step towards the microphone.

“Hello, Los Angeles,” I try to say, but it can’t be heard over the roar of the crowd. I do not waste time raising my voice or repeating myself.

“It’s so good to be here.” I look towards the front row and see three teenage girls wearing wigs. One has purple skin and long silky grey hair, one has green skin and green jumpsuit, and one is wearing ballet shoes with a stone taped to her forehead. “I see that there are some anime fans in the audience. I love anime! Watashi Holmes-Sanders desu,” I say.

“We’re not an anime!” they shout. “We are the crystal gems, and we’re here to save the day.” They suddenly storm on stage holding picket signs. My security is useless in the face of their determination. The signs say _#STOPWHITEBOYS2016_ and _Down with Cis._

I am offended. Not as a cis white male, but the Facebook RSVPs were for me tonight, not them. So I let it slip out. I’ve gone through so many practice sessions with my staff, late at night, to try to keep it in. But I couldn’t control it, and I now regret it. I didn’t even notice the roar of the crowd had died down, in my anger.

“You’re a furry,” I say, pointing to the purple one. “You read gay fanfiction instead of doing your homework, publically identify as a trash can, and spend your parent’s hard-earned money on imported figurines that you then pose in sexual positions,” I say, pointing to the green one. “And you…” I say that the one with the stone taped to her head, “Judging from the quality of your, er, _costume roleplay_ , I bet you’re just doing this for more followers on your favorite social media site.” 

Their signs drop in shock. The green one starts crying. “I’m not a furry!” exclaims the purple one.

I sigh. “Clearly you’re not. The rainbow fox wearing checkered arm warmers on your phone case and all the cat hairs on your leggings really help your case. Do skip wearing black next time. Although it is the most complimentary for your figure.” I turn to my security, no longer immobilized. “Please escort these children out of the venue. I’m here to talk about America’s _real_ issues.”

They nod and I face the crowd. But the energy that I was greeted with is no longer there. _Shit, did I just lose some more supporters? Keep it calm, Sherlock._

I take a deep breath. “I’m a man of the people! I’m here to listen. Free college tuition for everyone!”

An eruption of cheering rings throughout the crowd. Life’s good.


	3. Chapter 3

_“What we have to do... is to find a way to celebrate our diversity and debate our differences without fracturing our communities.” - John Green_

John Watson-Trump looked in the mirror in his hotel room. He ran a slightly crusty comb through his hair, trying to tame his wispy curls. He took a deep breath. _You got this, John._ His hands were quivering and moist. _You’ll make America great again. Just think of your success in the military…_ The Senior Watson-Trump had quite a high position, which John only moderately benefitted from in his army doctor days. He was going to repeat that success on stage.

Sherlock Holmes-Sanders straightened his tie, staring into the mirror of his hotel room. He turned to the right, and turned to the left. Yeah, his good side was the right. Sherlock wasn’t nervous. Nothing made him nervous, except for anti-trust funds—but even then, he was very good at converting that nervous energy into anger. But he felt none of that right now. He was going to win with his wits.

Mycroft Holmes-Clinton finished off the last of his fruit tart, brushing the crumbs off his seamlessly tailored pants. As the current Secretary of State, he wasn’t really worried about the threat of his little brother Sherlock’s campaign. He had a very solid network behind him. He was going to win the presidency, either way. Really, he already was the most powerful man in all of America. It was time to make that even more official.

Molly Hooper-O’Malley signed her last fan autograph, and placed it in a growing pile of at least three letters. She was a newcomer, pretty late in the game, but she was confident in her environmental platform. Molly was not going to throw away her shot. She was going to her best out there.

-

The stage lights were bright. Sherlock looked around: plenty of people to make a good impression on. He scouted out the competition: the idiot Trump, the shy O’Malley, and his biggest threat, his brother, Clinton. Cruz, someone who looked like he was permanently sitting on a cactus, was nowhere to be seen. Bad for his campaign, thought Sherlock. Good for Sherlock’s, though—if he could beat his brother in the primaries, he would basically have no competition from the Republicans.

“Welcome citizens of our great nation!” exclaimed Eren, the debate moderator. “I’m Eren, and this is my husband Levi.” He gave Levi a loving noogie. Levi looked pissed off and stole the microphone. “We’re going to start off with the pledge of the United States. Please join me and rise.”

They said the pledge:

_I pledge allegiance_   
_To the flag_   
_Of the United States of America_   
_And to the republic, for which it stands,_   
_One nation, under God,_   
_Indivisible, with liberty and justice for all._

“Thanks, Levi, honey,” said Eren, necking him. “Eren, stop! You’re embarrassing me in front of all these people…” whispered Levi. “I’m getting kind of horny. But...we have a debate to moderate, idiot.”

“Our first topic for the evening is...gay marriage!” exclaimed Levi, taking a chunk of Eren’s delicious ass in his hand and giving a firm squeeze. “We’ll start with the Democratic candidates. Secretary Clinton, you have 2 minutes to respond.”

On the other side of the stage, John released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Mycroft gave a calm smile. _He’s memorized what his campaign staff wrote for this_ , thought Sherlock. Clinton was infamous for switching positions whenever it was to his advantage, and Sherlock was thankful for that point of criticism. “Well, Levi, thanks for the question. Clearly, the Supreme Court made the only correct decision when they allowed for nationwide gay marriage: or, as I like to call it, marriage. It’s clear from you and your husband that homosexuals can contribute to all marks of society, regardless of their sexual orientation. Love wins.”

Eren grabbed Levi’s hand and popped his long fingers into his mouth in celebration. Because he couldn’t speak, Levi said, “Thank you, Secretary Clinton. Any other Democratic candidates have anything to add?”

“Um, I think that it’s great that gay marriage is allowed now,” started O’Malley, “but what about the other oppressions queer people—”

“What Mycroft is saying means nothing at all,” interrupted Sherlock. “Did he specify any of his platform whatsoever?”

“Actually, Senator Holmes-Sanders, I have a plan—” began O’Malley, but immediately stopped under the piercing look Sherlock shot her.

“Let Senator Holmes-Sanders finish, please,” said Eren, who was slowly rubbing his ass in circles around Levi’s crotch, as Levi let out breathy moans.

“Thank you, Eren. As I was saying, Mycroft _loves_ the gays when it’s convenient. _Only_ when it’s convenient. May I bring up his past voting history?” Sherlock smiled, and could feel Mycroft writhing in his podium.

“Now, Mr. Watson-Trump, is there anything you have to say on the matter? You’ve been quite vocal about other minority groups in America, but have stayed rather quiet on this one,” asked Eren.

“I believe in...strong, traditional family values,” said John, in his most confident voice. Some people in the crowd cheered. “It’s just not right to me,” he continued, gaining more confidence. “No offense to you or your, um, wife.”

“I’ll let that comment slide,” said Levi, because he was half-hard and not in the mood to moderate a debate anymore, really. “Any responses?”

“John, I’m surprised you’re such a supporter of strong family values,” jumped in Sherlock. “Care to explain what that, ah, white stuff in your hair is?”

Shit! John had forgotten that he didn’t clean the comb before brushing his hair. “It’s—it’s milk!” he sputtered, but his reply wasn’t heard over the laughter of the crowd.

“Seems like Mr. Watson-Trump needs some time alone to sort out his issues,” said Eren, giggling.

Thanks to that comment, Sherlock suddenly had a great idea to guarantee his victory. He was going to meet John after the debate, and show him something that would surely... harden his platform.


	4. Chapter 4

_“Maybe I have this fascination with the dark side because I live in the light. I don't have any dysfunction, and I've never experienced trauma.”_ \- Iggy Azalea

The debate ended a few hours later. It was a really rough one for John. He was confronted by Corey, his campaign manager immediately afterwards.

“Johnny boy! What the hell were you thinking! It’s gonna take millions to get the media to shut up about this one!”

“I’m not really in the mood, Corey,” sighed John. “Can we talk in the morning?” John stepped in the elevator to go back to his hotel room, shutting it in Corey’s protesting face.

“Hello Mr. Watson-Trump,” Sherlock greeted John in the elevator.

“What the fuck!?” exclaimed John. “Are you staying here too? Haven’t you humiliated me enough for a day, Holmes-Sanders?”

“Oh, Mr. Watson-Trump... humiliation is _hard_ ly my goal now,” said Sherlock, as he licked his lips. “And please, call me Daddy.” He noticed that in John’s surprise, he hadn’t yet chosen a floor. Sherlock pressed the top floor.

“How did you know I lived in the penthouse suite!?”

Sherlock just gave him a look. “ _Hard_ ly a tough deduction.”

“Wait...what floor are you getting off at, you didn’t press anything!” said John.

“Please don’t waste your breath asking questions we both know the answer to,” said Sherlock.

“I’m going to call security!” threatened John, as the elevator rumbled up.  
“I’m sure the media would love that, too. And Corey’s working so hard to cover up all your blunders today,” whispered Sherlock, like a cat who had just gotten the cream. He took his long fingers and ran them through John’s crusty hair. “We really should do something about this, shouldn’t we, hmm?” he practically purred into John’s ear.

“What are you—” but before John could finish, Sherlock’s mouth crashed into his. Every bone in John’s body went limp, except for the one in between his legs. But then his brain caught up to his microscopic dick. “Wait, Sherlock!” he said, pushing Sherlock back. “I’m not… I’m not gay.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Oh please, John. I know exactly what you search in the middle of the night. ‘Hot guys naked big cock?’ How about ‘Viagra coupons?’”

The elevator dinged. Thankful for not having to respond to Sherlock, John dashed into the door of his penthouse. “I’m going to go in here and report you for sexual harassment, Sherlock! You’re not going to follow, or I’ll have you arrested too!”

Sherlock smiled. “And the whole wide world will be not be surprised that John Watson-Trump is on a lifetime supply of Viagra.” He followed John into the penthouse. _That bastard with beautiful, big, blowjob lips,_ thought John. _How would they feel against me._

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Sherlock, making John jump. “You’re looking very obviously in the direction of your rather oversized bed for just one person...but quite a comfy size for two…”

“Oh, God yes,” John whimpered, allowing himself to be dragged by Sherlock to the bed.

His strong hands quickly started unbuttoning John’s Brioni shirt. “Be careful with the suit jacket!” John said, but was quickly shut up by the pad of Sherlock’s thumb circling his nipple. “Hhhhhhhngh,” moaned John.

Sherlock laughed. “Unlike you, John, I have no reservations about performing this devious acts.” He stuck his tongue in John’s throat, as if to prove his point, which made taking off Sherlock’s clothes a very challenging task for John.

But the shirts finally came off, and the belts were next. John suddenly felt the same nervousness he had felt in the beginning of the debate surge up his spine. If Sherlock knew the truth about his dick, he would never become president, but more importantly, he would never be able to get laid ever again. In that moment, John resolved that his pants would never come off.

Sherlock sensed John’s hesitation. “I know you’re worried about not being able to get it up,” he whispered, “but I do love a good challenge.”

This only caused John to sweat more: he _was_ hard, thanks to the permanent Viagra, but he doubted Sherlock would ever be able to feel anything between his legs.

“Now, show Daddy who’s a good boy,” whispered Sherlock, which caused another moan from John, “Weeeeewooooo.”

In response, John grabbed Sherlock’s schlong and kissed him long and hard. Sherlock laughed. “You’re a feisty one! Let me return the favor, my dear boy,” he said as he palmed John’s jeans.

“Fu—fuck, Sherlock!” immediately ejaculated John, soaking his custom tailored suit pants. 

“Woah, did you have a milk carton down there?” mused Sherlock, who sounded genuinely curious.

  
John knew it. Even without seeing his dong, Sherlock still managed to give him the most amazing orgasm of his life and embarrass him at the same time, just like in the debate.

He felt the tears well up in his eyes, and ran out of the room, leaving a very confused Sherlock.


	5. Chapter 5

_“I don't know the question, but sex is definitely the answer.” - Bill Clinton_

I feel violated. _I need some fresh air._ I leave the hotel and walk over to my 3,000 meter long limousine and attempt to cover the gigantic cum stain on my pants. The second I get in, I take off my pants and cover my crotch with the crusty comb still in my pocket. The comb’s bigger than my penis so it’s ok. Corey gets in after me, takes one look at me, and sighs.

“Corey… What do I do about this? I’ve sinned. I’ve done a dirty homosexual sex.”

“John… Just… Just lay low, ok? Don’t let anyone know about your interaction with that Holmes-Sanders guy… You know… You could shit talk him on Twitter, yeah? People would like that a lot.”

“Ah Corey you’re brilliant! I’ll get to it right now!”

I lean down to grab my phone and the crusty comb falls off my crotch. I open up Twitter and begin to type out the tweet. I post it and feel triumphant. There’s no taking it back now. Sherlock will never see what’s coming!

Corey suddenly grabs the crusty comb and slaps me with it. “John you fucking idiot!” he yells. “You posted a picture of your crusty ass dick next to a ruler on Twitter! Delete it! Delete it!"

I look in horror at my latest tweet. It read: _Dear The Doctor, I have realized that Viagra is doing nothing to my 2cm dick and it might even be shrinking! Look, it’s only 0.5cm now! Please help. - Trump._ Attached was a photo of my penis covered in cum next to a ruler reading 0.5cm. It was intended as a direct message for my doctor, but I accidentally sent the draft instead of the tweet about Sherlock!

I pressed delete but the damage was already done. I was losing followers by the minute. 6.9 million became 6.5 million, and pretty soon it was down to 4 million. People were posting screenshots of the tweet, the one from Mycroft Holmes-Clinton having the most retweets. My life was ruined.


	6. Chapter 6

_“My cousin’s gay; he went to London only to find out that Big Ben was a clock.” - Benedict Cumberbatch_

_And so began John’s hiding. It lasted for an entire week, a week where he did nothing but stroke his tiny, small, miniscule, teenie peenie microscopic schlong. When it was over, John decided to visit his brother’s cousin’s dad’s best friend._

There was only one person who I knew I could trust, and that person was George W. Bush. I drove my 1957 Ferrari (which is the most expensive car in the world) to his house. When I got there, I found George W. Bush painting a dog in his backyard.

“Hello Mr. Bush,” I greeted.

“Oh hello Mr. Trump! It sure is weird seeing ya down here. Wanna join me?” He beckoned to a seat next to him.

I sat down and picked up a tan color, beginning to draw a man. Art was therapeutic, this would help. I drew more and more men, painting my canvas with the bodies of at least 27 men. At one point, George W. Bush stopped painting just to look at my paintings.

“Umm… Johnny Boy… I think you might have a problem.”

On my canvas were the bodies of 27 men, all with tiny, tiny micropenises. Some of them were so small, they were literally just dots. In addition, all the men had Sherlock’s face.

“Oh my—I—I’m so sorry. I have no idea what happened there.”

George W. Bush just chuckled. “Hey dude, it’s no secret that you’ve got a .5cm cock. I mean, the whole Internet knows by now! I think you should see a therapist. Here, I’ll let you see mine for today. I’ll just tell them that a special guest is coming instead of me.” He handed me a card with the location and time of his therapy.

I was elated. “Thanks man… but why do _you_ need therapy?”

George W. Bush stared at me deep with his red tinted eyes. “It’s the marijuanananana mannnn… I’m so fucking _high_ right now…”

I slowly backed away from the man whose head was stuck in one position. I got into my car and began to drive to the place on the card.

-

I rang the doorbell of a nice, maybe $500,000 house. I tried not to silently judge the plebeian middle class home of the therapist. I almost shat myself when I saw who opened the door. It was…………………. SHERLOCK!

“Motherfucker!” I yelled. “God damn it George W. Bush! Fuck you and fuck your stoner ass!”

Sherlock smirked. “Now, now, John, he’s not the one you want to be fucking. Not that you’re capable of fucking anything with that dick of yours…”

“AND YOU!” John yelled. “I’M SUING YOU! I’M SUING YOUR HOUSE! I’M SUING YOUR NORMIE WIFE! I’M SUING YOUR NORMIE KIDS!”

“Oh John, how you flatter me. I do not have children, nor am I married. But that last part can change if you want it to,” said Sherlock with an audible wink.

“That’s it! I’m leaving!”

“Wait, John, no! Look. I’m sorry about being a dick. How about we just have the therapy session like planned, ok?”

I thought about it long and hard and sighed. “Ok, Sherlock. But if anything you do violates me, I’m getting my ass out of here.”

“Fair enough.”

-

Sherlock sat John down onto a seat right next to him, making sure that their knees were touching. He leaned up to whisper right next to his ear.

“So John… Tell me about what’s bothering you.”

“Don’t play stupid, Holmes-Sanders. You know exactly what’s bothering me.”

Sherlock put his hand on John’s thigh. “Oh really? Tell Daddy what’s wrong,” he purred.

John groaned and felt an erection starting to come. He stared at his pants in disappointment, as the only evidence that one was there was a small, mosquito-bite looking bump on his crotch.

“Someone’s getting excited,” said Sherlock. “Why don’t we take this to the bedroom?” _Jesus fucking christ_ , thought Sherlock. _Does he have a disease?_ Sherlock and John got up and walked to Sherlock’s bedroom in his one-story house. John still couldn’t get over the fact that it was only one story tall.

“Urghalululu,” groaned John as he was pushed into Sherlock’s affordable and eco friendly mattress.

“Oh yeah baby you fucking like that,” Sherlock moaned. He grabbed John’s zipper and unzipped it, revealing the tiny mosquito-bite looking bump on his underwear.

“AYAAAAAAAA!!!” John screamed. He ripped off Sherlock’s pants that he got from Marshalls. He saw Sherlock’s dong and gasped audibly.

“John… I want to suck your dick…”

He finally did it. He grabbed John’s $5,000 underwear and ripped it in half.

“Jesus Christ John, where the fuck is your penis?”

“It’s that thing right there.” John pointed to the mosquito-bite bump.

“That? That looks like a nipple. I don’t think I can suck it… But we could try anal. I’m guessing that you don’t need a condom, not that any would fit.”

John grunted and shoved everything into Sherlock, balls and schlong. There was a 30 second pause.

“John, get it in already. I’m getting bored.”

“Sherlock… The entire thing’s already inside.”

Sherlock burst out laughing. “Wow John, I knew you were small, but not that small!!”

John pulled out and started to cry. “You’re mean!” he screamed and ran out of Sherlock’s room. He ran outside of Sherlock’s house not even caring that he wasn’t wearing anything and his dong was visible to everyone.

“Hey guys, isn’t that John Watson-Trump? Wow, look at his dick!”

“I can’t even see it!”

John heard the flashing sounds of cameras. Suddenly, a car skidded up to him and someone pulled him inside.

“You’re a fucking idiot, John. What the hell! You might as well drop out of the election now. I’m quitting,” Corey said.

Well shit.


	7. Chapter 7

_“There's nothing like a beautiful sunset to end a healthy day.” - Gwyneth Paltrow_

“Do you think there’s any chance?” I asked Corey, who had shoved a $4,200 cashmere blanket on my naked form.

He looked at me as if I had said I was going to build a wall around America’s land borders. “There have been many crazed candidates in the history of this nation, Trump. But none of them have ever come close to this.” He motioned at, well, the entirety of me.

“If that’s not all, take a look at what’s blowing up on Twitter now.” He handed an iPad made of pure gold to me, which was open on Mycroft’s Twitter page (which now had more followers than mine).

 _Check out this ‘Johnlock’ scandal... You don’t want them running your country! (Warning NSFL: Not Safe for Life!)_ Attached to the tweet was a blurry video, as if it had been taken from security footage, of…exactly what happened 10 minutes ago. _“Wow John, I knew you were small, but not that small!!”_ shouted the pixelated Sherlock, over and over again to the naked pixelated John, but also to the real John, who was watching the retweets slowly creep into the 3 millions. The video zoomed into John’s penis, and John thought that Twitter might have censored it, but it wasn’t visible anyway.   
“At least you’ve won one thing. You’re the most retweeted tweet of all time,” said Corey.

“I...Corey, put out a statement of withdrawal, as your last task. I’m going to pay an old friend a visit.”

-

John, Sherlock and George W. Bush huddled around George W. Bush’s TV to watch Mycroft Holmes-Clinton’s inauguration speech. Nine months had passed since the primaries. Sherlock also dropped out of the race since Mycroft rigged his bedroom, leaving Clinton and Cruz the presidential candidates. Of course, it turned out that Mycroft was _both_ Mycroft Holmes-Clinton and “Ted” Cruz...so he won by default, inspiring a re-evaluation of the US’s two party system.

One good thing came out of the whole mess: John, finally comfortable with his sexuality, had found true love. He cuddled closer to Sherlock, who was still raging that his old, fat brother had the mic.

“Fellow Americans,” said Mycroft, President of the United States, double chin quivering with each vowel. “Thank you for your trust and support—but, to be fair, the competition wasn’t very tough.”

Sherlock started vibrating in anger, which made John hug him closer.

“My first decree as head of the executive branch is to end the fruitless war on drugs. In fact, I’ve enacted executive powers, and Congress has _already_ approved this new bill. Starting today, all around America, gay weed is legalized!” Mycroft continued forming words, but even the mic feed wasn’t strong enough to pick them up over the overwhelming cheers of the crowd.

“Those cheers should’ve been for me!” exclaimed Sherlock, turning off the TV in anger.

“You’re such a drama queen, Daddy,” giggled John. Sherlock’s mouth dropped, as if only to verify his point.

George W. Bush suddenly burst through the door. “Guys hey guys hey hey guys hey. Come here guys hey here guys look hey here hey hey.”

George W. Bush dragged them both into his garage. Before them stood 400 acres of marijuana plants!

“Woahhh,” said John. “Guess your therapy wasn’t so good.” Sherlock hit him really hard

“Hey guys chill,” said George W. Bush. “Get some weed and relax.” He threw some weed at them and gave them lighters. “Here, let me show you my bong collection. It’s what I do in my free time, besides painting dogs.”

George W. Bush dug underneath the 6th weed plant in the 9th row of his farm and brought up 3 bongs. One of them was purple, one was black, and one was super super small.

“John, you get the small one,” said Sherlock.

“Why?” asked John.

“It matches your dick.”

They took their bongs and went to the kitchen to makes Hot Pockets. John put a Hot Pocket in the microwave, heated it, and put another one in, heated it, and so on.

John put another Hot Pocket into the microwave. “Keep putting them in, keep doing it!” Sherlock yelled while throwing a Hot Pocket at George W. Bush.

“Keep putting them in? What the fuck do you mean, Sherlock; this is only the first one I’ve put in.” John continued to put more Hot Pockets into the microwave.

“Whatever dude, whatever,” Sherlock said.

“Hey, bitches, have you guys listened to this dank ass album?” asked George W. Bush. He held up a first edition CD of _Pretty. Odd._ by Panic! at the Disco and put it into a tape recorder.

“This is some dope ass shit,” said John.

“Yosss,” said Sherlock.

None of them had noticed it was in a tape recorder.

“Dude,” said John, putting 12 boxes of Hot Pockets into the microwave. “Have you ever, like, thought about why Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie broke up?”

Sherlock laughed. “Broke up? They were never together, you buffon.”

John nudged him really fucking hard in the shoulder. “Duuuude. They totally fucking were. Have you heard Brendon’s solo stuff? It’s all about Ryan. I mean think about it, it all makes sense! Brendon was drunk and made out with Ryan, but Ryan didn’t know he was drunk so he confessed his love to Brendon. Then Brendon was like, ‘Woah woah woah man no homo,’ and Ryan was like, ‘Bitch are you fucking kidding me,’ and then they broke up and now they’re sad and only write songs about each other,” John finished, shoving a Hot Pocket into his jeans.

“Gee pal, is your brain as big as your micropenis?” Sherlock countered. “Only an idiot would say the shit you’re blabbing about.”

George W. Bush brought out some cookies. “Yeah bro. I agree. John, I think you took too much dank ass weed, yo.”

John started crying. “I hate all of you.”

“Aww, don’t cry baby,” said Sherlock even though he was the reason John was crying. “Let’s watch your favorite movie to cheer you up.”

Sherlock took out an old VHS and stuck it into their TV. All three of them got together and started watching the movie.

  
_“According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly…”_


End file.
